


Sorcerer's Bane

by BeautifulFiction



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abduction, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Branding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction/pseuds/BeautifulFiction
Summary: Arthur gave Merlin his cloak thinking only of the warmth it would offer in a snowstorm. He never thought his manservant may be mistaken for him and snatched by bandits. Nor did he expect his dashing rescue of Merlin to turn his world so utterly on his head.Because the bandits hadn't kidnapped a prince. They'd snatched a sorcerer, and now captivity is the least of anyone's problems.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 97
Kudos: 390





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Emily gave me a one word prompt of "pillow" and my brain came up with a line and a book to go with it. Oops? Nine chapters are written so far, and it's still in progress. I plan to update once a week! 
> 
> Quick note on setting and timeline: Uther's still king but Arthur has all the knights who later become round table knights. Morgana's not evil. Rating may change in later chapters. 
> 
> Content Warnings: Abduction, canon-typical violence, mentions of slavery.

Leaden clouds pressed down overhead, the colour of slate. Merlin eyed them suspiciously, huddling in his too-thin jacket and shifting his weight in the saddle. 'It's going to snow,' he called out, huffing an irritable sigh. 'Hard. If we turn back now, we might reach Camelot before nightfall.'

'Don't be such a girl, Merlin. A bit of snow never hurt anyone.' Arthur touched his heels to Hengroen's flanks, picking up the pace of the patrol.

'Speak for yourself,' Merlin muttered, thinking of winters in Ealdor too cold to bear, where the old and the young perished in their icy beds. Of course Arthur wasn't worried. Why would he be when he'd barely known a day's hardship all his life? 'Prat.'

'I heard that!'

'No you didn't.'

Lancelot smothered a laugh in his glove as Leon turned his head to hide his smirk. Gwaine grinned, watching Elyan pass a coin to Percival: some bet lost and won. Arthur's favourite knights were well-used to Merlin and Arthur bickering by now. They'd borne witness to it often enough, and understood that what appeared to be anger on the surface had its roots in friendship. 

The wind shrieked through the trees, rattling the bare branches like dice in a cup, and Merlin clenched his teeth as he pulled his shoulders up to his ears. They had been on patrol all morning, searching for bandits along the northern road. Now, as the afternoon waned and the sun rushed towards the horizon behind its veil of cloud, the air had taken on a brittle, threatening edge. Surely anyone out and about would have the good sense to hole up somewhere, rather than struggle through the coming storm?

The first fat, white flake drifted down, landing in Lilac's mane. Merlin pursed his lips, patting his mare's neck as a dozen more soon followed it. Before long, it became clear that the flurry heralded a blizzard. Snow swirled thick like fog, turning the trees to vague suggestions of shape. The narrow road vanished beneath an icy veil. 

'Bugger me!' Gwaine shook his head, shouting to be heard as the storm's voice lifted around them. 'Princess, we need to get to shelter!'

'He's right,' Leon called out. 'The horses cannot go far in this, and neither can we.'

'Into the trees,' Arthur ordered. 'There's a ridge to the east; we might find a cave. And Merlin, don't you dare say it.'

Merlin smiled, swallowing his "I told you so." Not that he had much cause to be smug. He hadn't noticed the weather turn until it was too late. Even if they'd headed back to Camelot, they would have been no better off. 'I wouldn't dream of it, My Lord.'

Arthur muttered something that Merlin dutifully chose to ignore as he pulled his mare alongside Hengroen. The horses nickered to each other, their ears flicking away the snowflakes and their tails swishing. With every step they took, the ground became more treacherous, with twisting roots and furrows hidden from sight by the falling snow. Before long, Arthur gave the order to dismount so they could lead the horses, rather than risk a bad fall in their haste.

'The sky was clear an hour ago,' he grumbled, tipping his head to glare up through the forest's stripped canopy. 'Where did it come from?'

'It blew in from the Black Mountains in the west.' Percival jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 'Bit early in the year for it, but not unheard of.' The big man clicked his tongue at his gelding, murmuring soothing nothings. 'Storms like that blow in quick.'

'As long as it doesn't linger.' Elyan grimaced. 'If it keeps it up, we could find ourselves stuck out here.' He gestured to the snow gathering on the branches above them, great clots of it slumping to the ground as the wind chased drifts through the trees.

'Don't borrow trouble,' Arthur ordered. 'Let's focus on finding some shelter, shall we?' 

Merlin wrinkled his nose, narrowing his eyes against the wind's vicious claws as he tried to make out anything but snow and stark shadows. Arthur moved with confidence, but he doubted it was genuine. Part of being a commander and prince was never showing uncertainty. Such things were contagious, even among the best-trained knights. Besides, though Merlin knew that Arthur questioned many of his father's values, he still held true to the belief that any man of noble blood should not show weakness.

That included admitting he had no idea where they would find a place to shelter them from the weather.

Turning away so that no one would see the tell-tale golden gleam of his eyes, Merlin let his magic flow outwards, rushing through the forest like a great, warm wave. It danced through the snow, whirling in zephyrs through the trees. He could feel the sluggish seep of sap within their trunks and the busy burrowing of creatures in the ground beneath his feet, but that wasn't what he was looking for. No, he needed something old and hollow, cool and damp: the bones of the earth itself brought to the surface...

There. The cave yawned in his awareness, about five hundred paces off to the left. Nothing living lay in its embrace, and it was deep enough to protect them from the gale and the snow that drove before it. 'I think the ridge is that way.' Merlin pointed in the right direction, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder and wincing as the cold armour stung his palm. 'Come on!'

For once, Arthur didn't argue, reaching out to grab Merlin's sleeve. 'Don't rush off. If you get lost, there's no guarantee we'll find you again. Not in this.' He raised his voice, yelling against the wind to be heard. 'Form a line! Do not lose sight of the person in front of you!'

Each stumbling footstep made Merlin's numb toes ache in his boots, and his frigid fingers kept slipping on Lilac's reins. His teeth clattered, and his lungs burned with every too-cold breath. By the time they stumbled into the cave, ice clung to his lashes, and he grimly wondered if he would ever be warm again.

'Bring the horses inside. It's big enough for them, and they'll suffer if we leave them out in the storm.' Arthur led the way, his voice echoing around the wide, rocky space. The animals rolled their eyes but did not baulk, and Merlin whispered praises in Lilac's ear. 'Armour off. It's only leeching the heat out of us.'

'What about the bandits?'

Arthur gestured to the mouth of the cave. 'If they're out in that, then they’re as good as dead. I doubt they'll be a problem.'

Merlin tilted his head; Arthur had a point. 'All right. You lot help each other out of all that. I'll get firewood.'

'What?' Arthur spread his hands before grabbing Merlin's arm. 'How, exactly, are you going to manage that, Merlin? You can barely see your hand in front of your face! The ground's covered in snow anyway. Nothing will be dry enough to burn.'

'And if we don't have a fire, we'll freeze to death.' Merlin sniffed, stamping his feet to try and get some warmth into them. 'I won't go far, and let me worry about getting the fire started. I'll be back before you know it.'

'I'll accompany him,' Lancelot offered, giving Merlin a quick, meaningful look. 'and make sure he keeps out of trouble.'

Arthur looked like he wanted nothing more than to argue. Tension pinched the corner of his eyes and bracketed his mouth, but he let out a sigh before nodding in grudging agreement. 'All right. If we had a long enough rope, I'd tie it around your waists so you could find your way back. As it is just...' He waved a fretful hand. 'Stay in shouting distance and call out if you need help.'

He reached up to his throat, unfastening the clasp that held his cloak in place before shrugging out of the fabric and flinging it around Merlin's frame. 'You're under-dressed,' he said gruffly. 'Don't lose it.'

Despite the chill, a gentle heat bloomed in Merlin's cheeks. The cloak smelled of horse and armour and the soap Arthur preferred in his bath. The fragrance clung to the cloth, and Merlin's stomach swooped as the scent filled his nostrils. 'Thanks,' he rasped, clearing his throat. 'We'll be back before long.'

He ducked his head and turned towards the cave mouth, wrapping the rich red garment around his body to fend off the worst of the world's brumal bite. Lancelot strode along at his side, one hand on the pommel of his sword as he leant close and murmured, 'Are you going to – you know?' He wriggled his fingers in lieu of mentioning magic.

'As soon as we're sure they can't see us? Yeah.' Merlin tripped over something underneath the snow, stumbling before swearing under his breath. 'The less time we spend out here the better.' 

Lancelot nodded, rubbing his hand across his chin and glancing towards the cave. He was the only one who knew of Merlin's magic, thanks to the incident with the griffin, and while he had kept Merlin's secret ever since, he rarely got to see him in action. Most of the time, Merlin only used his power to help the knights in battle, holding back and turning the tide by tripping opponents or dropping branches on them. They were too busy fighting to notice what he was doing, which suited him perfectly. 

One day, Merlin thought to himself, he'd tell Arthur. He'd confess everything when the time was right, but so far that day had not come. He clung to his secret like a shield, and every time he considered speaking up, his heart rose in his throat to throttle him back to silence.

'The cloak suits you, you know,' Lancelot commented, smiling when Merlin raised an eyebrow. 'Red and gold.' He jerked his head towards the dragon, a rearing sigil atop a crown that adorned the clothing of the royals and no one else. 'How Arthur's not yet made you a knight is beyond me.'

'I'm a servant,' Merlin pointed out, 'and I'm rubbish with a sword. No, I'm fine just how I am, thanks.'

'Oh, I don't know. "Sir Merlin" has quite a ring to it,' Lancelot laughed as Merlin wrinkled his nose, the sound echoing strangely in the snow-clad landscape. 

'As if that'll ever happen.' Merlin grinned, looking back towards the cave. Its gaping, dark maw had vanished from sight, obscured by the storm, and he nodded in satisfaction. 'Here is fine. It won't take a minute.'

He reached out, his magic unfurling like a ship's sails before a strong wind. He stretched out his hand, fixing his will on what he wanted: not tree boughs or logs, but twigs, sticks and branches: anything small enough to feed a fire. ' _Anlǣċ bóginclu,_ ' he whispered, watching the snowflakes dance in front of him as the power spread, snaring what he needed in his net and sending it skittering into a pile at his feet.

'Gods,' Lancelot breathed, his eyes huge as if he'd just seen Merlin conjure a dragon from thin air as opposed to summoning a load of sticks. 'You make it look like nothing. Like it's as easy as breathing.' He bent down to pick up an armful as Merlin did the same, the two of them scooping up all they could, ready to carry it back to camp.

'Sometimes it is,' Merlin admitted. 'Others? Let's just say that, when I enchanted your lance? That was the first time I'd got that spell right. I'd been practising for days and couldn't enchant anything. I only just managed it.'

'But you did, and saved us all in the process.' Lancelot adjusted the wood in his arms, reaching out to clap Merlin's back. A moment later, he froze, his dark eyes wide as his focus shifted to the trees behind them.

The branches fell with a clatter, abandoned by Lancelot in favour of wrestling his sword free from its scabbard. Merlin reacted instinctively, ducking just in time to hear something whistle over his head. His shoulder crashed into the ground as he rolled to one side, snow slipping down the collar of his tunic as he scrambled away from the shadowy figures all around them.

Bandits. He hadn't even heard them approach, so soft were their footfalls, muffled by the fallen snow and drowned out by the gale's bluster. Now they circled them like wolves surrounding a pair of deer. Their dark clothes made them hard to count, and sweat broke out across Merlin's brow. Every spell he could think of to take them out would catch Lancelot in its sweep, and anything more targeted would leave him open to attack by whoever avoided his magic.

The sword that had arced over his head swung back, its wicked point halting in the hollow of Merlin's throat. He swallowed, feeling the sharp tip graze his skin. Next to him, Lancelot froze, his blade lifted but motionless as the world held its breath.

'Well, well. What do we have here?' The burly man, Percival's height and half as broad again, grinned. There was no joy in it, no mirth, only cruelty and satisfaction. 'A little prince lost in the woods?'

_Prince?_

Merlin swallowed, closing his eyes in a moment of disbelief. Of course, Arthur's cloak. It hung around him, defiant red in a white-out world, the crest declaring his apparent status to all and sundry. Anyone who hadn’t seen Arthur in person could be forgiven for assuming the one wearing it was a royal of Camelot.

Even a servant such as him.

Lancelot shifted, and Merlin glanced his way, giving a quick jerk of his head. He tried to make it arrogant, like Arthur at his most prattish, but it was hard to pretend he wasn't shaking like a leaf. Widening his eyes, he grimaced, mutely urging Lancelot to keep his mouth shut. If they corrected the brigands, then their lives would be forfeit. The only reason they'd spared them so far was because a prince was a valuable hostage. 

Besides, if they admitted the truth, then how long would it take before the bandits found the real Arthur? At least if they thought they already had the Prince of Camelot, then he would remain safe from their clutches.

'What do you want?' Merlin demanded, narrowing his eyes and lifting his chin, glaring up the length of the blade to the man who held him at sword-point. 'Unhand me!'

'I don't think so, Your Highness.' A sneer split the bandit's face. 'Drop the sword, Sir Knight, or I'll slit your prince's throat.'

Lancelot's jaw worked, his eyes flashing with fury. He glared at Merlin, lips pinched hard in desperation before he released the hilt of his weapon. It dropped to the snowy ground with a soft thud, leaving his empty hands raised in surrender. 'You don't want to do that,' he muttered, his nostrils flaring as he shook his head. 'If you kill him, the knights of Camelot will not rest until you are dead.'

'Kill him?' The man snorted, the rings on his fingers clanking as he shifted the sword in his grip. 'Corpses are worthless, no matter how pretty their clothes. No, don't you worry. As soon as his father pays the ransom, we'll send him back.' He smirked. 'If you're lucky, he'll even be in one piece!'

Lancelot lunged, a strangled cry of rage tearing itself from his throat. Merlin cried out in warning, the tip of the sword tracing a bloody line as he rolled to the side, springing to his feet with his hands raised. He didn't know what he was going to do. Incinerate everyone, perhaps, or send them flying with the force of his panic, but he never had the chance to unleash his magic.

The bandits grabbed him, their greedy fingers plucking at the cloak and circling his wrists. Another hand wrapped around his throat from behind, closing over the vulnerable flesh as something sharp pressed hard beneath his jaw.

'Lancelot!' His shout echoed around them: a warning cry that bounced between the trees, but it was too late. With a sickening crunch, the butt of someone's axe smashed into Lancelot's temple, sending him crashing motionless to the ground. Blood stained the snow, black in the feeble, flat light, and Merlin struggled against his captors, overwhelmed.

'Now, now, boy. He's not dead. Not yet, anyway. We need someone to tell the king what's become of you, don't we?' The leader gestured to a slender, weasel-faced man who was scratching something on a ragged bit of parchment. A ransom demand, Merlin realised. One that Uther would never pay; not for a measly servant. 

He swallowed back his fear, breathing hard as he watched one of the bandits stuff the note into Lancelot's loose fist. A moment later, the rogue’s booted foot connected with Lancelot’s ribs, rocking his body, and a gob of spit from the bandit’s lips smattered the knight’s cheek.

Rage surged in Merlin's chest, as bright and hot as the sun. 'Stop that! Leave him alone!' He struggled with all his might, thrashing against the restraining hands like a horse chafing at bit and bridle, but it was no use.

'Ah, we'll have none of that!' 

Merlin just had time to see a blur of movement before stars exploded across his vision, swiftly followed by a grinding pain in his head. A heartbeat later, that too was gone.

Darkness claimed him, and he knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

_'Lancelot!'_

Arthur lifted his head, his eyes wide as he stared out into the snow-draped world. His heart raced beneath his ribs, frantic. Merlin's desperate cry seemed to come from everywhere at once, and Arthur swallowed against the dryness in his throat as he surged forward.

'Hey, Princess! Wait, wait!' 

'Gwaine –' He flinched as his chainmail hauberk, so recently shed to spare him the metal's chill, dropped over his head. The weight settled on his shoulders as he struggled into it. The other knights were doing the same, donning what armour they could with the feverish pace of men who knew that time was of the essence. They had let their guard down on Arthur's orders, and now Merlin and Lancelot were paying the price.

'We rush out there unprepared, we won't be helping them one bit,' Gwaine promised, his dark eyes intent. 

'On me,' Arthur ordered, scooping up his sword and shifting his grip around the hilt, his fingers white-knuckled. The wind buffeted against him, making him stagger the moment he stepped outside, but he braced himself against it. 

The sun had set and darkness thickened in its wake. What little light there was seemed flat to the eye, turning the world to parchment. Arthur squinted ahead, barely able to make out any detail in the freshly fallen snow.

'Here,' Percival called out, pointing off to the left, where a rapidly fading trail marked Merlin and Lancelot's footsteps. Arthur could picture it: the two of them walking side-by-side, calm and unhurried as they ambled through the woods. 'They went this way.'

Arthur nodded, hunkering closer to the ground as he stalked forward, scanning the boles of the trees for any sign of life. The swirling snow made phantoms in its whorls, and he cast aside each and every one as nothing but a figment. 

'They were heading deeper into the forest,' Elyan murmured, his voice low in case anyone else listened to their graceless progress. Even if the soft chime of their armour did not give away their presence, then the snow crunching underfoot would.

'What's that?' Gwaine tapped Arthur's shoulder before he gestured ahead.

Following his pointing finger, Arthur paused, craning his neck to get a better look. At first, it seemed to be nothing but a trick of the light and the dancing snow, but a moment later he recognised it: a flash of red, twitching in the wind. 

A cloak of Camelot.

'Quickly,' he urged, ducking low and scurrying forward, keeping one eye on the surrounding trees as he moved towards the shape. With every step it grew more distinct, and his breath shuddered to a stop as he took in the sprawl of Lancelot's body.

Elyan swore, trusting the others to watch his back as he cleaved his sword point first into the ground and stripped his glove off with his teeth. A moment later, his dark fingers pressed against Lancelot's throat, and they all waited with breathless uncertainty for his verdict.

'Alive, thank the gods. He took a blow to the head, from the looks of it.' Elyan shook Lancelot's shoulder, his lips pressing into a thin line when the knight remained unresponsive.

'Not long ago, either,' Percival gingerly touched the wound on Lancelot's temple. 'It's still bleeding and warm, despite the cold.'

'What's that in his hand?' Arthur pointed, never taking his eyes off the shadows around them as his pulse thrummed in panic. His legs ached with the need to move, to stalk his quarry and rip the woods apart until he found Merlin safe and sound, but even now he had a responsibility to his men: one he could not put aside, no matter how much he wished otherwise. 'Well?'

Elyan pulled free the scrap of parchment, his lips moving silently as he scanned the words. Percival looked over his shoulder, and Arthur's blood went cold when he saw them exchange a slow, worried glance before turning to look in his direction. 'What is it?'

'A ransom note to King Uther,' Elyan swallowed. 'For the safe return of the Crown Prince of Camelot.'

Arthur frowned, his head twitching to the side as he tried to make sense of it. 'What?'

'Merlin was wearing your cloak.'

Arthur flinched, Leon's gentle explanation cutting into him like a knife. His cloak, which he'd wrapped around Merlin's shivering frame and pulled tight under his chin without a second thought. His cloak, which marked him out among his knights. His cloak, which for bandits who had never set eyes on the real prince, was enough proof in itself that Merlin was a valuable hostage.

He swore, a fresh vice of fear clenching in his guts as he held out a beseeching hand, waiting for Elyan to surrender the note. One quick skim made Arthur understand his reluctance. The amount listed was ludicrous, far more than a princely sum. His father would have paid it for the return of his only heir, but he would not have given up so much gold without a fight. As for Merlin? Uther would not consider him worth a single coin, and neither would his council.

As Arthur kept reminding his treacherous heart, Merlin was a servant, nothing more.

'It means he's safe, doesn't it? They won't do him harm while they think there's coin in it for them.'

'And how long will that last, Percy?' Gwaine asked, shaking his head. 'All it takes is one of them to know what Arthur really looks like, and the truth will come out. They'll beat Merlin to death and be done with it.' He ran a hand through his hair, shifting where he stood like a horse at the start of a race: darkness and danger be damned. 'We need to rescue him before they figure it out.'

Around him, the knights began to argue, quarrelling back and forth amongst themselves. Arthur listened with half an ear, scrubbing his hands across his face as he scanned the area, looking for any hint about where the bandits might have taken Merlin. The snow lay trampled, crushed beneath what looked like dozens of feet. A sizeable group then: Lancelot and Merlin had not been overcome by a lucky few. 

A small splatter of something dark caught his eye, and Arthur shifted, bending down to touch the pink-stained ice. Blood too far from Lancelot's side to be his. There, just beyond it, scuff marks, the white crust of snow broken open to reveal the forest floor beneath, rapidly filling in with fresh flakes.

'They went north-west,' he called out, his strident tones slicing through the knights' squabbling. He pursed his lips, thinking back to the maps they had of the area: sparse on details, but there were some landmarks that stuck out in his mind. He recalled an abandoned keep: the ideal hideout for ruffians and mercenaries looking for a place to camp.

'If we follow them tonight, we'll lose the trail in darkness.' Elyan gestured to the sky overhead. 'There'll be no moon. No stars. No way to see.'

'And if we wait until the morning, the fresh snow will have filled in all trace of them,' Arthur protested. 'I have a good idea where they may have gone, but we need to track them to be sure. You and Percival take Lancelot back to the cave: grab the firewood they collected.' He pointed to a goodly number of scattered sticks nearby. 'Stay warm, do what you can for his head and watch the horses until Gwaine, Leon and I return with Merlin.'

'And if you don't?' Percival asked, folding his huge arms across his chest: stubborn to the last. He may be a gentle giant to his friends, but he was as immovable as a mountain when he chose to be. 'This is dangerous, My Lord. They overwhelmed Merlin and Lancelot without a problem. What makes you think you can outfight them?'

'We can't, and nor do we intend to.' Arthur met Gwaine's gaze, glad to see his firm nod of agreement: they were on the same track. 'We'll infiltrate the place and get Merlin out. Once we're back in Camelot, we can send out enough men to make them rue this day.' 

A confidence he did not feel underscored every word. He could not afford to show weakness, not now. It did not matter that his heart squeezed and fluttered beneath his ribs, or that fear's icy fingers chilled him as surely as the wind that raked around them. He could not let doubt make its home within him. 'We'll be back by dawn.'

Elyan and Percival looked like they wanted to protest. Normally, Arthur would welcome the input of his chosen knights: the men he trusted not because of the circumstances of their birth but the strength of their actions. Now, though, time was running out, and there was no alternative he would accept. He would not leave Merlin in the clutches of the bandits a moment longer than he had to, not even for the sake of his own safety.

Besides, of everyone they could have taken, Merlin was the most helpless. While he was not as scrawny as he had been when he first came into Arthur's life, he still lacked the bulk that many of the knights could boast. Arthur could not say he had ever seen Merlin in a proper fight. Did he even know how to throw a punch without breaking his hand? Could he do anything to defend himself, or was he at the mercy of the desperate criminals who had snatched him away?

'Gwaine, Leon, come on.'

Arthur marched forwards, his blade still unsheathed as he followed the wide, shallow path through the snow. If he were an attacker, he would have left some men behind to see if anyone came for Lancelot, but perhaps they did not have his gift for strategy. Either that, or they did not care, confident in their stronghold and the numbers sheltered within.

The desire to punish them burned in his veins, pressing hot against his skin, but that wasn't how this could go. Not if they were to stand a hope of getting Merlin out safely. A good knight knew when to fight and when to lay down his blade and turn to other means. This was one of those times, no matter how much he longed to see the fear and realisation in the enemies' eyes as he put them to the sword one by one. 

'He'll be all right,' Gwaine promised, grasping Arthur's left wrist and giving a squeeze of reassurance: a tether to the present moment. Gwaine was always the most physical of his knights, ready with an embrace or a clap on the back. A year ago, Arthur would have recoiled from it. Now, it steadied him, taking the sharpest edge off his fear.

'You sound so certain.'

'Merlin might be shite with a weapon, but he's got a quick mind. I've seen him talk his way out of trouble. He's probably already running rings around them.' The pride in Gwaine's voice was unmissable, and Arthur raised an eyebrow.

'Merlin can't lie to save his life.'

'No, he can't lie to _you_.' Gwaine smirked. 'Nor his friends. He panics. Anyone else is fair game.'

'I'll take your word for it.' Arthur paused, pointing out more blood on the ground. A drop or two, no more, but enough to catch the eye even in the failing light. 'Is that why they hit him? To keep him quiet?'

'Probably.' Gwaine's mirth vanished, lost beneath a thunderous scowl. 'Or to stop him putting up a fight. Maybe your reputation precedes you? Perhaps they don't know what you look like, but heard you're a good warrior?'

'Let's hope not. Merlin wouldn't be able to fib his way through a challenge. He'd be dead in seconds.'

'They will not risk him coming to harm. Not considering the price they were asking for his safe return.' Leon scrubbed a hand through his curls. 'Most lords would be hard put to come up with such an amount, even for their only heir.'

Arthur said nothing. It galled him to think of others in a similar situation, forced to ruin their lands to pay off feckless bandits. And how many of them honoured their end of the bargain? How many took the coin and let their hostages go? He knew of several noble families who had lost a son or daughter, giving up eye-watering sums for their return only to receive a body in exchange.

Gods. What if Merlin was already dead?

Terror flew at him from the shadows of his mind, locking his ribs in ice and making his breath hiss. Flashes of white crackled at the edge of his vision, and he shook his head, desperate to steel his resolve. It was not the kind of concern found on the battlefield. That was a grim, steady fear: leaden and heavy. This feeling was sharper, harder: impossible to escape. He was helpless, crushed beneath its weight as he tried to fathom the unimaginable.

'Arthur!' Gwaine grabbed his shoulders, giving him a good shake. 'Enough of that, Princess. Enough.'

Gwaine's irreverent nickname made him grimace, a reflexive spasm of annoyance that allowed him to snatch in a sip of air. All anger's heat had left him, and now his frame shuddered beneath the shroud of his armour, chilled to the bone. 'I'm fine,' he snapped, shaking his head and dragging open his eyes to glare at Gwaine's disbelieving expression.

'No you’re not. You're scared half out of your mind. So am I. Not for my own sake, but for Merlin.'

The words trembled between them, the situation made more real by Gwaine's quiet acknowledgement. Arthur took a deep breath as he steadied himself – trying to recover the strength he should never have lost in the first place, but still it slipped through his grasp.

'We will find him, My Lord,' Leon promised, his presence a reassuring weight at Arthur's right shoulder. 'We will bring him home.'

'And if we can't?' he rasped. Where had this fear come from? How had it found him, harsh and sudden? His father would be appalled to see him so shaken by the loss of a mere servant. Except Merlin was more than that. Despite Arthur's protests of the impossibility of it, Merlin had become his friend and confidant. He had grown from an annoyance and an irritant, becoming someone Arthur could not do without. He could not lose Merlin's sharp wit and sharper tongue, nor his easy conversation and sunny smiles. 

He could not lose those dark blue eyes and Merlin’s unfaltering loyalty.

Arthur shuddered, sucking in a deep breath as he steadied himself. That was not how it would go. The bandits were barely half an hour ahead of them. Leon and Gwaine were right; they would get Merlin back, and damn anyone who stood in their way.

He surged forward, his caution ebbing as the forest remained silent around them. Here, where the trees were thickest, the snow lay thin and delicate upon the ground. It made each step easier, but also meant the trail grew more vague. They had to rely on subtle signs, things easily missed in the dark, like broken branches and scuffed grass. The earth was too cold to carry boot prints, and Arthur's despair thrummed beneath his skin as the tell-tale traces of the brigands’ passage ebbed away.

'There.' Leon pointed up ahead, and Arthur squinted, amazed at such sharp vision. He would have passed it by, but now he could see the strange, small object, the light reflected at an odd angle to its surroundings. Hunkering down, he picked up the braided leather strap, painfully familiar. It had adorned Merlin's wrist every day since he first met him: a simple decoration, worn soft by time. 

Not torn, Arthur realised, but unfastened, as if its wearer had dropped it on purpose.

'Merlin, you're a genius,' he murmured, his lips twitching in relief. 'Looks like they didn't hit him too hard. He left us hints.'

'Because they stopped.' Gwaine ran his hand over the litter of leaves. On some, frost gleamed silver along their edges, but others lay crushed and wet underfoot. 'Hesitated. Talked among themselves maybe, before heading that way.' He gestured off to the left, and Arthur let out a shivering breath, all his suspicions solidifying into certainty. 

'They took him to Kirricairn. It's been abandoned since before my father took the throne. It's the only place near here that could shelter a group of their numbers.'

'A score or more, judging by the footprints.' Leon sheathed his sword, his expression grim. 'And that's only the ones who took Merlin. There could be five times as many holed up in the old keep.'

Arthur paused, forcing his mind and body still, reaching for the well of calm certainty deep within himself. He had to put aside his fears and bury his uncertainties. He needed a strategy, one that could get them in to the heart of the viper's nest unnoticed. 

'This is treacherous territory. They’ll be forced to guard against the competition, not to mention knights from Camelot. We should intercept and incapacitate one of their patrols. With their armour, we can infiltrate the keep without raising suspicion.' Arthur took in Gwaine and Leon's expressions, not looking for their agreement but glad to have it all the same. 'Once inside, we need to be able to move freely. We have no idea where they might be keeping Merlin.'

'Dungeons are a good bet,' Gwaine replied.

'But not guaranteed. We take nothing for granted.' Arthur's hand sliced through the air. 'Let's move.'

The woods thinned around them, the trees turning sparse and the snow filtering through the bare branches anew. It formed strange, white patterns on the dark ground, thickening with every step until the last shelter faded away and Kirricairn loomed before them. 

A ruined monument of grey stone, it crowned a rise in the earth: the only hill for miles around. Eminently defensible, it retained its foreboding air despite being abandoned for more decades than Arthur cared to count.

It stood empty no longer. Torchlight gleamed in its glass-less windows: beacons of promise. Smoke rose from its courtyard, and the wide road leading up to its portcullis stood worn and well-travelled, the snow catching amidst shattered old cobblestones. Here, an army of bandits made their home, and in their midst?

Merlin.


	3. Chapter 3

As dungeons went, it wasn't too bad, Merlin thought grimly. They were a bit damp, and there was no hay to soften the frigid stone floor, but at least there weren't any ominous skeletons or other dubious occupants to bother him. 

He was alone, tucked away in the cell at the far end of the passage. A single, feeble torch in a bracket burned fitfully, painting mad shadows over the walls. Every few minutes it would splutter, fighting to survive the wind that blasted through the cracks in the stonework, but it had yet to flicker out.

A throbbing banged at his temples, sick and sullen, where they had struck him. He had not been unconscious long – had awoken still in the snow-flecked forest, half-carried, half-dragged between two men. He'd had sense enough, even with his reeling head, to take off his bracelet and drop it on the ground, hoping that it would leave a hint for anyone who came for him.

Which they would.

Wouldn't they?

He plucked at his cuff, biting his lip. Of course they would. They were his friends: Gwaine and Elyan, Percival and Lancelot. Even Leon, the most traditional of Arthur's knights, viewed him with fondness. None of them would abandon him here, and neither would Arthur. 

Therein lay the problem. As much as he hoped for rescue, Merlin feared it. At least now, Arthur was safe. If he came charging into this dismal keep, he'd do so with his sword flashing, putting his life on the line in the name of honour. Arthur may be Camelot's best fighter, but even he couldn't hope to triumph against such odds. Nor, Merlin knew, was he likely to permit himself to be taken hostage without a fight.

Not unless the bandits threatened someone else in order to force his surrender. Then, and only then, would Arthur comply.

Merlin swallowed the cloying taste of bile, closing his eyes and leaning back against the stone wall. The chains around his wrists clanked mockingly, and the cuff banding his ankle weighed heavy, tethering him to the floor. There was enough give on it for him to reach the foetid bucket in the corner of the room, but no more.

If there was one small blessing to this disaster, it was that the bandits hadn't seen him do magic. The shackles did nothing to dampen his power, and he could break out of them in the blink of an eye. The lock on the cell door would open easily enough... the only reason he'd not yet made his escape was the guards.

In Camelot, the soldiers rarely bothered to stamp up and down the corridor. They were happy to leave the prisoners in peace and lose themselves in a game of dice. The bandits, however, had other ideas. They sauntered back and forth, clanging their swords on the bars and jeering before departing. Every time Merlin began to relax, they'd return, rattling his cage and whispering to each other, shooting filthy looks in his direction as harsh smiles split their lips.

There had been knights and lords like it in Camelot over the years, the ones who found pleasure in the fear of others. Particularly in those they considered weaker. Bullies, the lot of them. Not the type that would settle for the occasional humiliating cruelty, either, but the kind who liked to hurt anyone who couldn't fight back.

Merlin shifted, clutching Arthur's cloak tighter around his shoulders. He was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping him safe. So far, none of them had taken a closer look at the clothes he wore beneath it: too poor to belong in the wardrobe of a prince. They'd not noticed his boots, scuffed and threatening to split along the upper, either. They saw what they wanted to see, and for now that suited Merlin just fine.

He'd bide his time. The guards would get bored eventually, and then he would make his move.

Outside, true night settled, pressing down on the keep's walls. A narrow slit near the ceiling offer Merlin a thin, dim view of the courtyard. Even that was fading, rapidly filling with snow and ice as the storm dropped its bounty on the land below. Now and then a few flakes would drift inside, floating down to rest on the cell floor. They did not melt, and Merlin shuddered, fighting off the cold that sank its teeth into his bones.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his head on their peaks, breathing in the scent that still lingered in the fabric of Arthur's cloak. The heavy material dragged at his shoulders, far more fine than anything Merlin owned, and he let himself be grateful for the luxury. It may have been what got him into this mess, but he was glad to have it all the same: a barrier between him and the bitter cold of his cell.

After what felt like hours, Merlin realised that the guards had stopped tormenting him. Their heavy footsteps no longer rang out, and even the low tones of their conversation had fallen silent. There were still noises of feasting and revelry beyond the dungeons – the bandits celebrating his capture, no doubt – but nothing disturbed his solitude.

Licking his lips, Merlin shifted, wincing as his cold body ached in protest. His knees clicked as he crawled forward, pressing his face to the icy bars and peering along the hallway to the table at the far end.

Empty.

He did not waste a moment to count his blessings, letting his magic crawl sluggishly over the metal binding him and twist through the locks. Spells never took well to thick iron. Something in its nature stopped them from sticking, but Merlin bullied the power through, pushing with all the strength he could muster until the manacles fell from his wrists.

He caught them before they could clang on the floor, setting them down on the chipped flagstones as carefully as he could before turning to the chain that tied him to the wall. The links, as thick as his finger, weighed down his foot, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the lock opened with a decisive snick. Now all that stood in his way was the cell door: its rust-pitted bars painting the world in their stripes.

' _Tospringe!_ '

Merlin winced at the racket, but no one rushed to investigate. He waited for a few moments, ready to deny all knowledge if he were discovered, but it seemed his captors had grown bored of him; content to await the arrival of the ransom. Would they have remembered to feed him, he wondered, or would he have starved to death waiting for gold that never came?

Ghosting out of his cage, Merlin crept along, easing from one shadow to the next and avoiding the feeble pools of light cast by the occasional torch. The cold stone walls pressed around him, each hallway leading into another, tunnel twisting upon tunnel until he was not sure if he was going up into the keep or further down into the cellars and dungeons beneath it. 

It was a maze, more so even than Camelot, and Merlin swallowed his panic. There wasn't time for this! 

He paused at a junction, sucking in a deep breath and looking left and right. In the woods, his magic worked perfectly, drawing strength from the earth and trees and living things all around him. Here, in a castle of rough-hewn stone, it felt different: tight and claustrophobic, and spells that needed to spread out could only go so far. 

The magic he'd used to find a cave in the forest instead gnarled like tangled string, forming a knot of sensation. Dizzy and gasping for air, Merlin drew his power back. He'd have to rely on his wits, such as they were, to get him out of here.

At last, he found some steps, their surface worn slick by the passage of the years. He haunted the bottom, head cocked like a bird as he tried to listen. The distant sound of cheers and carousing reached his ears, but the room above him seemed hollow and empty.

Inching upwards, he held his breath, the hem of the cloak whispering on the floor as he scuttled in a half-crouch, eager to be on his way but desperate not to be seen. The steps coiled in a tight spiral of blind corners, poorly lit, and Merlin stumbled more than once, scraping his palms on the rough brickwork. By the time he reached the top, he was panting with exertion and nerves, his body vibrating like a plucked harp string.

Far behind him, he heard a cry of outrage and alarm: someone had no doubt discovered his empty cell. Merlin swore, darting out into the great hall. He spared barely a glance for the cobweb-clad walls or the dust-smeared floor. He was too intent on getting away. There would be plenty of doors to a place like this, and Merlin knew the bandits couldn't be watching them all. If he could just get into the back rooms and the servants’ quarters, he'd find his way to freedom. All he had to do was...

'Oi!'

Merlin skidded to a halt, the blood draining from his face as a dozen or so men threw open the door ahead of him, barrelling into the room. Their swords were drawn and their teeth bared, faces locked in spasms of fury as Merlin frantically changed course.

All hope of creeping out was long gone. Even if he could move quietly, the bandits pursuing him were happy to make as much noise as they could, raising the alarm and baying like dogs after a stag. All Merlin could do was run, darting this way and that in an effort to lose them in the same tortuous corridors that had confounded him only a few short minutes ago.

Unfortunately, the bandits weren't so easily fooled. They knew these halls better than Merlin, and they hounded him without cease. Every time he thought he had given them the slip, more would appear.

At last, his luck ran out.

A dead end.

Spinning around, Merlin faced the men stalking towards him: triumphant victors in their hunt. They stood between him and the only way out, a wall of muscle and armour, swords and axes. Even Arthur and the knights would struggle to get through them, and a cold sweat broke out across Merlin's back.

'Looks like someone got out of his cage.' One pushed forward, his battle-scarred face pinched in thought. 'Now how did you manage such a thing?'

Merlin swallowed, pursing his lips and holding his silence. His palms felt hot, burning with magic, and he could feel it coiling tighter in the pit of his belly with every fearful moment that passed. 'Let me go,' he croaked at last. 'Let me go and no harm will come to you.'

He expected the laughter. It made him think of Arthur when he had first met him: that same jeering, bullying tone. Except what, for the young Prince, had been thoughtlessness and bravado was instead lilted with cruelty among these hardened men. They did not have a good heart between them, and Merlin knew it.

Well, they couldn't say he didn't try to warn them.

' _Ástryce!_ '

The air exploded outwards: an invisible force rolled through the room, flinging aside all in its path. The laughter turned to cries of fear and surprise as the bandits went flying, smashing backwards to slump against the wall. Merlin darted forward, not daring to waste even a moment of his advantage. He leapt over the fallen, tripping on discarded weapons as he dashed towards the open door. Freedom was so close he could taste it. All he had to do was get _out_.

Something yanked at his throat, dragging him over backwards and sending spots dancing across his vision. Merlin struggled and the harsh sound of ripping fabric filled his ears. The cloak. One of the bastards must have grabbed its hem, and it threatened to throttle him. The clasps held firm, digging into his neck and stifling each breath.

'Grab him!' 

Meaty hands pinned him down, the bandits who had not been knocked senseless lunging forward to keep him on the floor. He scrabbled against them, trying to twist away and regain his feet, but it was no use. Even if he could break free, whoever had grabbed the cloak still held the fabric in their grip, as formidable as the chains that had bound him earlier.

He could hear shouted commands: orders bristling with urgency and a scatter of boot-steps as someone ran off. A moment later they returned, and Merlin was yanked around and forced to kneel, his arms pinned behind him as someone grasped the back of his neck, scruffing him like a disobedient dog.

'You're no prince.' The leader hunkered down, his head ducked as if he were trying to look Merlin in the eye. He could smell him: stale wine and sweat. 'Where did you get this?' He snatched up a fistful of Arthur's cloak, waving it in Merlin's face. 'Eh?'

'Stole it,' Merlin lied, running his tongue over his bleeding lip. More than one blow had found its mark during the brief tussle.

'Oh yeah?' 

They didn't believe him, that much was clear, and Merlin risked a glance up as sprinting footsteps approach. A lad, probably no older than sixteen, dashed in, carrying something in his hands: bands of metal that gleamed, oily and slick to the eye.

'Here you go, Laz.'

'Know what these are?' Laz asked, his scars puckering as he offered a gappy grin, picking up the objects and holding them out for Merlin to see. Even from this distance he could feel the power on them, except it was like no spell he had ever known. There was no warmth or life to it. Instead, it felt cold and dark, a bottomless hole waiting to be filled. 'It's got a name, this metal. Sorcerer's Bane.'

Merlin swallowed. His magic curled itself into knots, drawing back from where it hummed beneath his skin in an effort to pull away.

'It's to make sure people like you can't go around doing your little tricks.' Laz turned his head and spat on the floor, his rheumy eyes squinting at Merlin with obvious disgust. 'Only thing Uther ever did right was putting your lot to the stake. Now we've got ourselves a sorcerer in a prince's cloak. Wonder how much Camelot’s king would pay to know that?'

Clenching his jaw, Merlin tried to yank his arms free. The men holding him in place gripped him harder, their fingers pressing bruises into his skin as Laz shifted 'Consider yourself lucky, boy. If Uther doesn't want you, there's slavers who'll offer good coin for one of your kind. You're worth more to me alive than dead.' He raised a wild, silver eyebrow, his gaze flat. 'Don't make me think twice about that.'

He lunged forward, snapping the collar shut around Merlin's neck. Immediately it tightened, shrinking to touch his skin in a frigid, burning band. His pulse hammered, sick and fast, and the floor dipped beneath his feet, rocking like a raft caught in rapids as he gaped a wordless protest. 

Gods, it was worse than he could have imagined: all the heat had been sucked out of him with no chance of every returning. The familiar glow of his power snuffed out the instant the metal touched him, and when they added manacles to his wrists, the cry in Merlin's throat broke free.

Loss and agony twined around each other, his body thrumming with pain as his heart keened at the icy void inside of him. His eyes felt like embers in their sockets. He shuddered: helpless and weak. 

Magic would not answer his call. He tried to summon even a glimmer, but none came. The place within him that normally brimmed with light now lay dead and empty. Worse, his efforts only made his head spin, as if he were pulling at something within himself that could not bear the strain. The restraints responded to his feeble attempts, burning hot and blazing cold in quick succession.

'What have you done?' he croaked. Acid churned in his stomach as spots danced across his vision, flashing in a dozen sickly hues.

Laz pouted at him, all mocking pity before he bared his teeth in a snarl. His voice resonated with a deep loathing that had nothing to do with Merlin himself. Instead, it was all about the magic he possessed.

'I've leashed you like the dog you are.'

Merlin shivered, his strength draining from him like water from a leaky bucket. It took his hope with it as the world reeled and dipped. There would be no escape for him, and as his mind sank deeper into darkness, his final thoughts were of Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm thinking of starting to update this once a week. What do you think?
> 
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> 
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	4. Chapter 4

'There!' Leon pointed along the road, his expression grim as the bandit patrol came sauntering into view. They were no knights, that was for certain. They held no formation and made enough noise talking among themselves that they stood out like a beacon in the night: easy targets for an ambush.

Arthur clenched his jaw, his gaze skittering back towards the looming silhouette of the keep. They had been waiting for their moment to strike, a tortuous exercise in strategy versus his own waning patience. Not more than a candle-mark ago there had been some kind of disturbance within the old castle: clattering and shouting. Its abrupt end left Arthur's imagination running riot, conjuring dozens of useless, awful scenarios.

Now, at last, they had the opportunity to find out what had happened for themselves.

'There's only five of them.' Gwaine's teeth flashed in the dark. 'I like those odds.'

'You run at them from the front; Leon and I will loop behind.' Arthur watched Gwaine's grin widen, feral and sharp. They each worried about Merlin in their own way. Arthur strategized to the point of nonsense while Gwaine plotted bloody revenge. 

Only Leon maintained a facade of calm control, but Arthur could see that even that was just a mask. Leon's face may remain blank and impassive, but his eyes burned. Merlin might not be a knight, but he was one of them. That he had been taken cut them all to the quick. 'Wait for us to get in position, then make your move.'

He and Leon inched forward, hugging the tree line and ducking behind the undergrowth to circle around unseen. It helped that this patrol were in no hurry to return to the warmth of the fireside. Bundled in furs and passing a wineskin back and forth between them, they seemed content with their lot. Unfortunately, their evening was about to take a turn for the worse.

Almost the instant he and Leon got into position, Gwaine let out a bloody-curdling cry, his deep voice resonating through the falling snow. Arthur saw the patrol falter, their steps turning hesitant. A moment later, the first blow hit, and one of the bandits folded in two, collapsing to the icy ground like a child's doll.

Leon and Arthur leapt, striking from behind. It was quick, bloody work. In different circumstances, Arthur might have felt a twinge of conscience about the surprise attack, but there was too much at stake to consider such things as mercy. Besides, these men had already shown themselves to be without scruples. They were bandits, and they had taken Merlin. They did not deserve an honourable death.

'Aw, shite,' Gwaine muttered as the last one fell. 'I think I made a mess of his armour.'

'That's why I aimed for the head.' Leon gestured to the man who had fallen to his blade, his temple a bloody wreck but his clothing untouched. 'Never mind. I am sure we can make up three decent disguises between the five of them.'

'Then let's get to work.' Arthur sheathed his sword, bending down and grunting as he heaved one of the bodies over his shoulder. 'Pull them off the road and strip their armour.'

'What about the stuff we're wearing?' Gwaine gestured to the chainmail: good Camelot iron. Arthur winced at the thought of leaving it behind. 'We'll wrap it in cloth and come back for it if we can. Let's be quick about it.'

He refused to let himself dwell on the morbid nature of donning another man's still-warm armour. The bandits wore leather with plate reinforcement: a brutish, crude form of protection, but cheap and easy to wear while on the move. Most of it had seen better days, and Arthur wrinkled his nose at the smell that hung around the cracked and ill-treated hide. 

'Leave the furs,' he ordered. 'They're too distinctive. They may draw more attention to us than we would like.'

'Aye, Sire. They've no helms, either. We'll need to keep our heads down.' Leon pulled a face, rubbing a gloved hand over his jaw before strapping his sword to his waist. In theory, their weapons were too fine for bandits such as this, but Arthur knew that none of them would be parted from their blades. Not even for the sake of a disguise.

'We'll manage. With any luck, the bandits will be too numerous and ever-changing for them to be familiar with everyone within Kirricairn. Come on. We've wasted enough time as it is.' He jogged out from the trees, slowing as he reached the road and looking towards the keep, taking a moment to get his bearings before leading the way. The armour felt strange, ill-fitting and too light, but he pushed the nagging sensation of wrongness aside. He'd dealt with worse, and if it let them into Kirricairn unchallenged, then it was worth the discomfort.

'The front will be heavily guarded. Look out for a side-gate,' he urged. 'The fewer people we come across, the better.' He chewed his lip, wishing he could be more certain of what they would face. Was Merlin even in the dungeons, as Arthur suspected, or would the bandits imprison him closer to hand, somewhere they could keep an eye on the supposed-prince? Did they occupy every room in the ruined castle, or was some of it as derelict and empty as it looked? Were they facing an army, or nothing more than an unruly gang?

'Right then,' Gwaine whispered, indicating an open doorway set into one of the tower walls. 'Let's see what we're up against, shall we?'

Flickering torches, sickly and sallow, ignited the threshold, and Arthur ambled towards it, projecting the same air of confidence he wore whenever he strode into his father's throne room. Behind him, he could hear Leon and Gwaine keeping pace. The urge to march made Arthur's knees ache, but that, more than anything, would give them away. These bandits were not knights; any training they'd had was long in the past. He had to act the same, or all this effort would be for nothing.

A single sentry watched them approach, leaning against the wall. He expected no trouble and took his ease without a second thought. Arthur could have run him through in a heartbeat.

'All clear?' he asked.

'No-one on the roads.' Arthur made his voice gruff and his words curt, but the guard seemed keen to chat, his teeth flashing in the torchlight.

'You missed all the fun,' he crowed, clapping Arthur's shoulder. 'The princeling escaped. 'Cept he's not the prince. Not at all. He's a bloody sorcerer!'

Arthur froze, his thoughts scattering like a flock of birds taking flight.

Sorcerer?

_Merlin?_

'He got away?' Leon's voice sounded hoarse, strained and thin, but at least he was speaking. It was more than Arthur could manage, and he could feel Gwaine's gaze burning into his skin, waiting for a reaction.

'Gods, no. Laz leashed him. He'll go to slavers and fetch good coin. Not a king's ransom, but near enough. He's in the cells. Not looking too great either, last I saw.'

'He's ill? Wounded?' Gwaine sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth, and Arthur shifted closer in silent warning.

'Nah.' The bandit frowned, the first flicker of suspicion clouding his features. 'It's the collar. That's what I heard, anyway. He won't die for a while yet; not before we've got him off our hands, leastways.'

Arthur clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath through his nose as he pushed all thoughts of sorcery and magic out of his head. Maybe it was a misunderstanding; perhaps it was true. Either way, it would have to wait. All that mattered was getting Merlin and the knights out of here in one piece. After that?

He'd have the truth from Merlin's own lips, not the ignorant stories of some brigand.

'Come on,' he managed, jerking his chin along the corridor. 'We've got better places to be.' He offered no excuses or farewell, merely brushed past the sentry and turned down the narrow, stone hallway, his heart in his throat and his thoughts spinning.

'Arthur?' Leon whispered, a dozen questions furled within a single word. 

'Not now, Leon. Once he's safe, we will...' He trailed off. He dared not look that far ahead. 'We need to get Merlin out. That’s all that matters.'

'No, it's not.' Gwaine grabbed Arthur's wrist, pulling him up short, his eyes ablaze. 'Are we rescuing him just to put him on the pyre? This is _Merlin._ '

'Who’ll be sold to slavers if we don't set him free,' Leon murmured.

'But he'll still be alive. Uther would see him burn.'

'I know!' Arthur yanked his arm away and cuffed a hand through his hair. 'I know, but my father is not part of the problem. Not yet.'

'No.' Gwaine's mouth pressed into a thin, flat line, 'but what about you?'

'Gwaine...' Leon's voice grew leaden with warning, but Arthur could only bow his head. If Merlin was a sorcerer, then to hide him from the king's justice would be treason, and yet...

'Stop,' he rasped, looking between them, seeing the same confusion, pain and uncertainty that boiled in his own blood writ upon their faces. 'We know nothing. All we have is gossip.'

'Enough in Camelot to condemn a man,' Gwaine growled.

'Not for me.' It was all the reassurance Arthur could offer. He pulled the few remaining tatters of his certainty around himself like a cloak as he met Gwaine's gaze. 'I'll not blindly do as my father commands. You know that.'

At length, Gwaine inclined his head, just once: a grim acknowledgement that, for all Arthur's faults, he was not mindless under Uther's thrall.

'Dungeons are probably this way,' Leon said, breaking the silence as he gestured towards a tight, twisting staircase. 'We could do with a torch.'

Arthur scooped one from a nearby bracket, glad to have something in his hands. It made him feel less helpless as they inched down steps worn to a treacherous shine with age. Down here, the damp seeped through the stone, turning the stale air icy. Grotesque shadows loomed across the walls, and the flame of the torch flickered and twitched in the breeze that whistled in through the masonry

'This place is falling down around their ears,' Gwaine grumbled, one hand stretched out to feel his way to the bottom of the stair. 'It's barely more than a ruin with a roof.'

'Quiet,' Arthur whispered, cocking his head as the sound of distant voices drifted up to them. 'Hear that?'

It was not the jeering revelry of a gang celebrating, nor the drunken jests of a crowd lost in their cups. These were low murmurs that hummed up Arthur's spine, setting his instincts buzzing. Leon peered around the corner, cautious, before beckoning Arthur forward. 'Guards. Half-a-dozen or so, though they seem ill-at-ease.'

They surrounded a small table, perfect for dice, but none of them sat down to play. Instead, they spoke among themselves, eyes wide and hands waving. One sharpened a wicked sliver of a knife, his head cocked as he listened.

'Laz has it under control,' a blond man with an eyepatch said. 'It's sorted.'

'Thirteen dead. Necks snapped and heads smashed from being thrown so hard against the bloody wall.' A dark-haired bandit rubbed a finger over his nose and shoved the cloth wrapping his head back from his brow. 'The boy waved his hand, that was all. You think it's safe just 'cos Laz says so?'

'You saw him.' Eyepatch pointed along the hallway behind them, a narrow, shadowed maw lined with cells. 'Shaking like a drowning rat, he is. He couldn't hurt a fly, let alone do anything to any of us. Not as long as he's bound.'

'And if he gets out? How pissed off is he gunna be? What's to stop him doing the same to the rest of us before we even get the chance to raise our swords?'

'I say we gut 'im now,' the one with the knife snarled, the vicious jab of his blade coming to an abrupt halt as Arthur stepped forward. His heart banged hard in the hollow of his throat as numerous eyes fell upon him, suspicious and guilty in equal measure.

'You'll do nothing of the sort,' he snapped, knowing his voice sounded too wealthy, too educated compared to these ruffians, but unable to stop himself. 'No slaver will want a corpse, not even a magical one. We're to check on the prisoner. Laz's orders. You,' He pointed to a man who'd not said a word during the argument. 'Bring him water. Food too. Who's got the keys?'

'You'd go in with him?' the man with the knife asked, shrugging his shoulders and tossing him a rusted ring of keys that clattered when he caught it. 'Your funeral.'

'Someone needs to check on the merchandise.' Gwaine's grin was far from friendly. 'Can't do that through iron bars.'

Arthur exchanged a quick, warning look with Leon. They had no choice but to turn their backs on the men, who had resumed muttering among themselves. They walked down the row of empty cells, Arthur's shoulder-blades itching with the imagined thrust of a knife. The others were no better. He could hear their battle-readiness in every hitch of air that passed their lips. They spoke not a word, not until they got to the very last cell and the torch's frail light fell on the figure within.

'Gods!'

Leon's voice pulsed with sympathy. An answering tightness seized Arthur's heart, and he shoved the torch into Gwaine's grasp, fumbling with the keys before he unbolted the door.

Merlin did not so much as stir, not even when Arthur dropped to his knees as his side. He trembled where he lay: a feverish, tooth-rattling shudder. Blood daubed his face and matted his hair. That slender body, stripped down to tunic and breeches, curled in on itself as if to ward off another blow. Yet it was his glazed, unseeing eyes that gave Arthur pause. Not blue, as he was accustomed, but bright, vivid gold.

'Merlin?'

He pulled off his glove, reaching out with his bare hand to grip Merlin's shoulder and feeling the chill of the flesh beneath seeping through the threadbare sleeve. The pallor of his face made him look dead, leached of all the colour and life Arthur knew so well. Only hours ago, Merlin had been hale and hearty. To see him reduced to this... 

'Merlin, can you hear me?'

His chin jerked as if he had been struck, and a flash of metal caught Arthur's eye. 'Gwaine, bring the torch closer.'

'Is he...?' Gwaine's boots scuffed the floor, and a bitter curse stirred the air as he got a better view. 'Gods, he looks like shit.'

Arthur reached out, pressing cautious fingertips to the gleaming collar banding Merlin's throat. Cool to the touch, it looked unremarkable, but he could see the blood welling at its edges as if it sliced into Merlin with every breath.

'His wrists are the same.' Gwaine reached out one hand to pull Merlin's fist away from where it was clenched against his chest. The two manacles were linked together with a short length of chain, the cuffs at either end leaving a gloss of blood over Merlin's pale skin.

'What are they doing to him?' Arthur whispered.

A cry of alarm rang out, and Arthur spun awkwardly, halfway to his feet as Leon was flung into the cage, shoved with enough force to send all three of them sprawling to the cold stone floor. The torch fizzled out, plunging them into shadow, but it was the clang of the door that drove Arthur upright. He had left the keys hanging in the lock, and now the bolt slid home, leaving him panting, furious, and trapped.

'Well, what do we have here?' A large man, his face riddled with scars, stood in the gloom, the bandit Arthur had sent for food and water at his elbow. 'None of you are my lads.' His smile was more a snarl as Arthur stepped closer to the bars, but he had the sense to stay out of reach of his sword. 

'Let us go!'

'No, I don't think I will.'

'Laz...' the man whispered, pointing to the weapon in Arthur's hand: not at the blade itself but the pommel, marked with Camelot's distinctive colours. 'Look.'

Laz, who had to be the leader judging by the rings on his fingers and the fur around his shoulders, grabbed a nearby torch. He hefted it above his head so golden light flooded into the cell. 

He surveyed Arthur with a cool stare, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth as he took in his measure. 'It seems it is my lucky day. Maybe you stole that sword, and those shoes.' He eyed Arthur's comfortable riding boots, too well cared for to belong to any ruffian, 'but you didn't pinch that nose or that jaw. Uther Pendragon's written all over you, Your Highness.'

Arthur swallowed, the brief idea of denying everything floating to the front of his mind. Yet even as it did so, he realised it would be useless. Maybe Laz had not known his face when he took Merlin, but it seemed he knew of Uther well enough to see the resemblance. 'Let the others go. It's me you want.'

'And have them ride for Camelot and bring an army to my door? I think not. No, I'll keep 'em. They're knights. Nobles. They'll have family willing to pay good gold for them. Then there's you.' He scratched his stubbled jaw, wetting his lips as he pulled something from his pocket. It looked like a short metal rod, gleaming with the same sheen that covered Merlin's chains. 'Son of Uther, who decries all magic as the darkest of evils, rushing to the rescue of a sorcerer. I wonder what your father would say to that.'

Silence was his only answer. Arthur gave him nothing but a cold, disinterested glare. His palm still rested on his sword, choking the hilt in a desperate fist. The gesture did not escape Laz's notice. He flicked a dismissive hand in Arthur's direction. 'Kick your weapons through the bars. All three of you.'

'Why should we?' Leon demanded, stepping forward to stand by Arthur's shoulder. A moment later, Gwaine did the same on the other side, presenting a stubborn, united front. 

Wordlessly, Laz tilted the wand, the torchlight oozing along its length until he held it sideways, no longer upright but parallel to the floor. It seemed a meaningless gesture, right up until the moment that Merlin's next breath choked off with a hiss. 'Do it, or he dies.'

Arthur whipped around, watching Merlin gasp for air. The band at his throat glowed ice-white, outlined with scarlet where it bit into Merlin's neck. Already, his lips were turning blue. Those glazed eyes rolled in their sockets, their golden shine growing dim.

'Enough!'

Cursing in disbelief, Arthur shoved his sword through the bars. It skimmed over the stone floor, spinning out of his reach as he nodded to Leon and Gwaine, bidding them to do the same. 

'Good,' Laz purred, righting the wand and smirking as the sound of Merlin's rasping, eager breaths filled the air. 'Now, you two, stand there.' He pointed to the right hand-side of the cell before flicking his fingers towards Merlin, who lay in the far-left corner. 'You,' he ordered Arthur, 'over next to your pet.' When they hesitated, he twitched the wand meaningfully. 'Do I need to make you?'

Shuffling backwards, Arthur did as he was told, placing himself between Laz and Merlin. Several men stepped forward, waiting for Laz to turn the key before lunging inside, grabbing Leon and Gwaine none-too-gently. They tried to fight back, but the moment they resisted, Laz began to tilt the wand once more, and Merlin let out a thin keen of pain.

'Come quietly. You're not going far. Another cell. Keep you separate. Keep you safe.' He sneered at Arthur as he locked him away once more, pocketing the key with a flourish before giving him a mocking bow. 'As for you, Your Highness, I'll leave you with your sorcerer. Seems he means a great deal to you, to be worth all this trouble.'

His crass laughter echoed along the corridor as he departed, and Arthur bowed his head, folding his arms across his chest as the full weight of his failure settled on his shoulders. He should not have allowed himself to become distracted by Merlin, not by his wounds nor the magic that flashed in his eyes. Yet here they were, him and his knights – disarmed and dishonoured both. 

A rough gasp from Merlin pulled at Arthur's attention. There was little to light their paltry cell: only a torch on the opposite wall, but Merlin himself seemed to glow in the darkness, his skin bone-white. He should have looked threatening, his magic – if it was even his and not an illusion created by the manacles – on blatant display, yet all Arthur saw was the servant who had become his friend. The young man who followed him into one danger after another with neither sword nor armour to his name.

Never a knight, but the bravest of them all.

Merlin was _Merlin_ , and Arthur could not turn away from him.

Sitting down with his back to the wall, he reached out, cupping his hands under Merlin’s armpits and dragging him closer. No murmur of protest passed Merlin's lips. Did he even know what was happening? Did he realise Arthur and the others had come for him, or was he locked up somewhere in his own mind, made a prisoner of a different sort by whatever Laz had done to him?

Spreading his legs, Arthur arranged Merlin's limp body between his thighs, letting that slender frame lean drunkenly against his chest. Merlin's weight was a trembling, frail kind of burden. He had always been thin, but now he felt glass-fragile, and Arthur swallowed down his fear. Merlin was stronger than he looked. He had to believe that.

'I'm here, Merlin,' he murmured as he wrapped his arms around that shivering body, holding him against his thrumming heart and sharing what little heat he had to spare. 'I'm here.'


	5. Chapter 5

He had never experienced a pain like it. For all he had been through, all he had suffered over his time in Camelot, nothing could compare. Agony became Merlin's shroud, covering his face with cobwebs of fire and burning through his blood. It went beyond flesh and bone, deep down into the heart of him. Power seethed, and he shivered beneath its onslaught. His frame was a prison for his magic, and it longed to be free of him.

The world became nothing but a smear of shadow and sound. He could make no sense of it, not even when warm hands cradled him and strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind. His body felt rag-doll limp and his mind was lost on a raging sea of fearful, fretful oblivion. Every time he tried to pull himself back to reality, another wave of darkness drowned him in its clutches.

A voice began to nibble at his hearing. At first, it was only occasional, nonsense syllables, but the more he focused on it, the clearer each word became. What was nothing but noise turned into something more familiar. 

Arthur spoke to him softly, as if he were some kind of wild animal that needed tempting out into the open. '– will come after us when we don't return. Lancelot too, if he's able. This is just a setback. It'll be all right, Merlin. We'll be back in Camelot before you know it.'

Whatever he was leaning on, warm and broad but smelling of old, grotty leather, heaved like a pair of bellows, and Merlin let out a faint groan of protest. His eyes stung with the bite of grit, and as soon as he tried to focus on his surroundings, a splitting pain arrowed through his skull.

'Merlin! Merlin, are you awake?'

'Stop movin',' he managed, wincing as his vision wobbled drunkenly. 'You're a terrible pillow.'

Arthur huffed, but he stilled, only tightening his arms across Merlin's chest in response. It felt good. Better. Like he was anchored rather than bobbing up and down on a stormy ocean. Weakly, he tried to reach up and pat Arthur's sleeve in thanks, but a chime of metal and discomfort around his wrists was all he got for his trouble. His hands didn't seem to be working right, and he cracked one eye open to glare at the manacles.

Memory surged, a hot, sick tide of recollection that made him stiffen in Arthur's embrace. His kidnap; Lancelot lying in the snow; a dozen dead bandits and the cold, impenetrable power of the collar and chains Laz had bound him with.

Sorcerer's Bane.

Fuck.

'Er...' He wet his lips, his parched throat aching. A shiver rushed through him, and Arthur loosened his grip, his hands rubbing up and down Merlin's arms as if trying to get some heat into him. 'What... why are you here?'

'We were rescuing you.' Gwaine sounded darkly amused from wherever he was. Somewhere nearby but not as close as Arthur. 'It all went a bit pear shaped.'

'How are you feeling, Merlin?' That was Leon, who had that same, falsely cheerful voice he used whenever things had gone spectacularly wrong and he was trying to see the bright side. 'You've been out of it for a while.'

Merlin sighed, not sure where to start. Everything hurt. Sickness cramped his belly and his head throbbed. His neck and wrists felt as though they'd been rubbed raw. His entire body shook with chills. Yet worse than all that was the sensation of his magic, bubbling under his skin with no way to get out. It pressed at him like hot iron: a constant, nagging discomfort that surged into agony whenever he tried to reach for it.

Worry flickered through him. How much did his friends know? How much did _Arthur_ know? Had Laz or his men told them the reason for Merlin's chains, or did they remain blissfully ignorant?

'Been better,' he rasped. His throat clicked as he swallowed, and Merlin pursed his lips, wondering if he dare ask anything about it. Was it his imagination, or had the silence grown tense, crowded with something that no one wanted to say? 'What happened? How did you get caught?'

Behind him, Arthur stiffened, every muscle hard beneath the leather. Belatedly, Merlin wondered what had become of his chainmail. He spent a lot of time enchanting it to keep Arthur safe. He hoped he hadn't lost it.

'We were distracted, and that "Laz" individual is smarter than he looks.'

'Rocks are smarter than Laz looks,' Merlin grumbled, reaching up and feeling along the edge of the collar. The simple movement cost him all his strength. His body ached with the pathetic effort, and there was nothing to reward his questing touch: no hinge or keyhole or even a seam where it had shut. The stupid thing seemed to have been forged around his neck. 'It's not like you to get distracted.'

'Well perhaps if you –' Arthur's jaw closed with a click, biting off whatever snappish retort he'd been about to offer. 

A cold sweat bloomed across Merlin's brow. The air around him felt like the gaping jaws of a trap, waiting to snap shut on him, but he couldn't bring himself to step away. 

'Perhaps if I what?' He tried to sit up, to turn around and get a good look at Arthur's face, but the moment he shifted even a little, fresh waves of misery bombarded him. A wretched groan boiled beneath his ribs, unbidden, and his next breath hitched on a pitiful sob.

'Easy.' Arthur rested his hands against Merlin's chest, his palms pressed over his heart as he pinned him close. 'Easy, Merlin. Stay still. You're making it worse.'

'Perhaps if I _what_ , Arthur?'

There was a soft "thunk": Arthur leaning his head back against the wall, though whether it was in stubborn refusal or unwilling defeat, Merlin couldn't say. If only he could see Arthur's face! He tried to catch a glimpse of those familiar features and the clues they contained, but it was no use. He hurt too much to manage it.

A moment later, Merlin recalled that while Arthur had several flaws, he was not a coward. He didn't hide from anything, and he never left things unsaid.

'Perhaps if you had told me you were a sorcerer then I wouldn't have been distracted, and we would never have ended up in the cells with you in the first place.'

Panic. It buzzed in Merlin's ears and filled his head with its clamour. His heart battered at his ribs as if it were trying to break free of its cage, and his back turned into a rod of iron, rigid and brittle. Every warning Gaius had ever uttered returned to haunt him. Every execution he had witnessed replayed before his eyes: the heavy swing of the axe and the crackle of the pyres. That was the fate that awaited anyone who practised magic in Camelot.

That awaited _him_.

'Arthur –'

'Don't.' The leather Arthur wore creaked as he shifted. 'Don't deny it.'

'I wasn't going to.' Merlin swallowed. Arthur didn't believe him, but it was the truth. He might be scared half out of his wits, but there was relief there, too. He had kept his secret all his life, even from those he considered his friends. Now, he didn't have to lie any more. 'I know what you think about magic, but I've never used it to hurt you or - or trick you or anything!'

'And what _have_ you used it for?'

'Saving you, mostly.' Merlin lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, his lips wrenching in a mirthless smile Arthur couldn't see. 'There's always someone trying to stab you or poison you, put a curse on you or sacrifice you to something... I just make sure they don't succeed in actually killing you.'

Arthur sat statue-still behind him. Merlin could not even feel the swell of his breathing. Only the twisting knot of Arthur's fingers in Merlin's threadbare tunic gave anything away, clutching at him with a desperation he didn't understand.

'You –' Arthur rasped, his voice stuttering in a way Merlin had never heard before: overwhelmed. 'You learned magic in a kingdom where a single spell would condemn you to death in order to keep me safe? Are you mad?' He gave Merlin a little shake, only stopping when he groaned in protest. 'What were you thinking?!'

'That's not –'

'Wait, don't answer that. It's obvious; you weren't thinking at all. Gaius should have known better than to train you. He knows how dangerous magic can be.'

'Stop.' Merlin reached up, grabbing Arthur's hands with his. The manacles bit into his skin, sore and stinging, but he clenched his teeth around the pain. 'Gaius didn't teach me anything.' 

'Then who did?'

'No one! Magic wasn't something I chose. I was born with it. I've been using it for as long as I can remember.'

Distantly, he heard Gwaine's soft curse of surprise. He had forgotten they had an audience, but he couldn't spare a moment to think of the knights now. No doubt they had questions aplenty, but the small fragments of attention that he could muster were all focused on Arthur, desperate for him to believe the fundamental truth about Merlin's magic.

Yet before Arthur could utter a word in response, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed towards them, bouncing back and forth along the narrow stone passage. Merlin flinched, swallowing hard. Arthur's arms tightened around him. They both froze, staring at the cell door. 

For one desperately hopeful minute, Merlin wondered if it was Lancelot and the others coming to the rescue, but no. They would sneak, not march. Whoever approached acted like they owned the place, and Merlin's heart sank as Laz stopped at the threshold, flanked by two men easily Merlin's height and at least twice as broad.

'Well, isn't that a sight? What would Uther Pendragon say, I wonder, to see his son clinging to a sorcerer?'

'You had better hope you never find out,' Arthur snarled. 'Let us go now, and I'll make sure there is no retaliation for my imprisonment.'

'Too late for that, boy. Already got a buyer for this one, coming at dawn.' He flicked his fingers towards Merlin, his beetley eyes crinkling at their corners as he leered. 'Just need to mark him is all, and he'll be on his way.'

'Mark him?'

'Branding,' Leon snarled from the opposite cell. Before today, Merlin would have sworn that the mild-mannered man would never raise his voice, but now he sounded furious. 'They mean to brand him.'

'Like fuck they will!' Gwaine growled. 'Arthur –!'

'Such fuss!' Laz spread his hands, and Merlin's eyes caught on the gleaming rod of metal clenched in his fist. The manacles and collar throbbed in its presence, power flooding through them. Yet even as it took hold, he thought he sensed something: a tiny crack in its lurid, greasy influence. 

'Leave him alone, or so help me I will run you through myself!'

'Brave words for a man with no weapon, Your Highness.' Laz looked down at Merlin, his dark eyes flashing with cruel mirth. 'Time to let your little pet go, I'm afraid. Over to the other end of the cell, now. There's a good boy.'

'I will not allow you to take him!'

'As if you have any choice.'

Laz turned the rod on its side, and Merlin felt the metal binding him respond, growing heavy and lank against his skin. His magic buzzed, thrashing against the invisible constraints as agony reared up anew, filling his head with its booming racket. Something wet trickled over his mouth. Blood from his nose, Merlin realised, too busy clutching at his own skull to wipe it away. 

People were talking – shouting – protests and curses and all manner of things, and still the torment continued. It pressed down on his chest and dug talons into his guts, leaving him breathless and heaving, doubled over on the floor as he tried not to let the darkness overwhelm him. 

Someone's hand was on his shoulder – the back of his neck – clutching at him with fretful fingers that shook with every touch. All the while Laz continued to speak in a measured, chilling tone.

'So, it comes to this, young Prince. Surely life, even as a slave, is preferable to a miserable death? After all, that is what awaits him in Camelot. I would only be giving him the execution your father would order, if he knew what this one was.' Laz's voice slithered through the air, curling in Merlin's ear. 'Move aside, Your Highness. Save him.'

Someone's breath hitched, an almost-sob. Maybe it was him; Merlin was too far gone to tell. All he knew was that, just when he thought he could bear it no more, his pain increased ten-fold. It clamoured through him, a beast gouging at him until he was writhing on the floor, his magic a cresting, surging sea that threatened to drown him in its depths. Light flashed across his vision, white and glassy, and his heart galloped in his chest, sprinting through its last moments.

'So be it.' Laz sighed. 'He dies here.'

'Stop!' The warm hands left him, allowing the cold to race over Merlin's shivering flesh. Boots scraped over the floor, Arthur retreating: defeated. 'Just stop!'

Relief. 

His body panged like a plucked harp string, but the burning circles of the cuffs cooled. The collar no longer choked him, and the tempest of his magic calmed: a placid lake where it had, moments before, been a vortex bent on consuming him whole. 

The clatter of the lock stirred him from his stupor, and he groaned as he was dragged to his feet. His knees shook under him and his head throbbed. Not that his captors cared. No doubt they'd carry him out if they had to, and Merlin was sorely tempted to make them do just that.

One look at Arthur's defeated, hopeless expression changed his mind. Guilt and self-loathing already wrote its story across those features, that handsome face a rigid mask in a effort to hide his feelings. It was his eyes that gave him away, bright in the gloom and holding Merlin's gaze, intense and desperate. 'I'll find you,' he rasped. 'Whatever happens, I _will_ find you. Just – just stay alive, Merlin. Please.'

Reeling and breathless, Merlin ducked his head, forcing back the threat of tears and pasting a feeble grin on his face. 'Don't worry,' he managed, his lips cracked and dry. 'I'm not going anywhere.' Rough hands grabbed his arms, dragging him out as Laz slammed the cell door shut once more.

'Pretty words,' the bandit said, 'but that's all they are.' He placed a hand between Merlin's shoulder blades and shoved him along the corridor, laughing as he almost fell flat on his face. 

'You'll never see your friends again.'


	6. Chapter Six

Arthur paced the cage like a beast, his hands clenched into bitter fists at his sides. He shook, not with the cold, but with helpless fury. How could it have come to this? How could it be that, when Merlin needed him most, he had failed so badly? 

He kept going over and over everything he could have done, trying to change the outcome in their favour. His lip bled where he had worried it with his teeth and his body ached with the longing to lash out and punish someone for daring to take Merlin from him. To sell him like so much chattel!

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and sucking in a breath as Merlin's parting grin flashed across his mind: weak and weary, but a welcome sight all the same. How long had it been since they'd taken him? Mere minutes, he thought. Not yet half a candle-mark. Perhaps it wasn't too late. Maybe they could still save him from a life enslaved, if only they could get out of these gods-forsaken cells!

'Sire.' 

Leon and Gwaine stood at the bars of their prison, separated from him by only the span of the stone hallway. It may as well have been miles. Both were pale in their stolen armour, bruised and grimy from their brief battles with the bandits. Yet it was the fear lining their faces that broke Arthur's heart, not for their own safety, but for Merlin.

Sorcerer or not, he was still their friend.

'We cannot let them do this.' Gwaine's right hand tightened around the bars as if he could rip the old iron from its socket, His dark eyes sparkled with determination. 'Life's bad enough for a normal slave, but one like Merlin? They'll use his magic however they see fit. Force him to do whatever they want.' He shook his head, his hair brushing his stubbled jaw. 'It will break him.'

Arthur could picture it all too well. Merlin was the opposite of what Uther believed a sorcerer to be. There was nothing evil or corrupt about him. This was a young man who had been known to shed a tear over the deer Arthur shot for dinner. He had a good heart and a strong mind to go with it. Compassion and loyalty to those who deserved it were cornerstones of Merlin's being.

For someone to take him and make him do their bidding, no matter who it harmed?

It was unthinkable.

'And how do we stop them, Gwaine? Even if we could escape, the moment we get close to Merlin, they will hurt him. You saw what Laz was like. He would rather lose the money and kill Merlin than let him go free.'

'There must be a way! Maybe we can trick the guards? Pick the lock?'

'I've already tried,' Leon promised, shaking his head. 'Ancient as they are, they're surprisingly strong. They'll not shift. As for the guards...' He gestured along the empty hallway. 'It seems we're not worthy of the honour of their company.'

Arthur glared down the gloom-shrouded length of the corridor, taking in the cold, uncaring stone and the frail torches flickering in their brackets. All around, the keep seemed unnaturally still. Not a sound trickled down to them from the floors above. There was no laughter or merriment, no carousing or drunken revelry. Instead, the place felt like a tomb, heavy and oppressive.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the silence shattered.

A distant scream stole the breath from Arthur's lips. He would know that voice anywhere, though it was rare he had ever heard it broken apart by such torment. 'Merlin!' He threw himself at the cell door, bruising his shoulder on the unyielding barrier. A desperate kick at the lock proved futile, and Arthur paced back and forth: a wild animal frantic to escape, to help, to race to Merlin's side and eviscerate whoever was causing him such misery.

A warm rush of air plucked his hair back from where it clung to his sweating brow, and Arthur blinked in surprise. There was nothing to see: no glowing light or billowing smoke, just a gentle heat that seemed to bloom outwards, twisting through him before moving on. The clang of the cell locks springing open echoed like bells. He reached out, and the door swung aside beneath his palm.

Far above, a great, rumbling roar began, growing ever louder as the old stones of the castle lost their fight with gravity. Dust rained down from the ceiling, filling the air with gritty mist as distant shouts of alarm rose in a ghastly chorus. The ground shook, juddering like a huge creature turning over in its sleep, and Arthur struggled to keep his balance as he eyed the walls of the dungeon.

'Shit,' Gwaine spat, shoving his way into the corridor. 'I think that's our cue to get out of here.'

'Not without Merlin.'

'Lead on.'

Arthur darted forward, scanning the shadows for any sign of someone who could put a stop to their bid for freedom, yet no one cried out to warn of their escape. All that met his gaze was blank stone walls and, there, the gleam of their swords, pitched aside. 

Scooping up his blade, he adjusted his grip around the hilt, feeling something in him settle at the familiar weight in his palm. He watched Leon and Gwaine retrieve their weapons with the same expression of relief. Uncertainty crystallised into determination as helplessness fell by the wayside. If anyone tried to stop them, it would be the last mistake they ever made.

'Which way?' Leon asked as they erupted into a junction where several hallways met. Each looked unremarkable, but Arthur could feel an odd warmth coalescing in the one to the left: beckoning. Glints of light – dust motes catching in a sunbeam – sparkled amidst the shadows. Gold, the same as Merlin's eyes.

'Down here.'

The hallway grew narrower, twisting like the gullet of some gigantic beast. Between one breath and the next, the air changed, the musty scent eradicated by something hot and ashy. Arthur wrinkled his nose, swallowing hard. It reminded him of finding villages after raids: homes burned and bodies charred beyond recognition. The odour clung to the back of his throat, making him cough as he peered ahead.

'Where is everyone?' Leon whispered, his armour creaking. Arthur didn't need to look to know that his Knight-Commander would be bringing up the rear, watching their backs as they eased their way forward.

'Don't jinx it. Maybe we got lucky and they've all buggered off.'

'I don't think so.' Arthur pointed ahead to a shape on the floor, twisted as if it had fallen there to writhe in agony. There was not much left of the man: some scraps of leather and melted studs; bones that crumbled to dust even as they watched. Nothing more. 'At least, not all of them.'

'Serves 'em right.' Gwaine swallowed, his pallor at odds with his harsh words. 'What did it, d'you reckon? Same thing that opened our cages?'

'Magic.' Arthur couldn't say how he knew, but he was sure of it. Somehow, despite the collar and manacles, Merlin had managed to break free. Yet that wasn't the limit of it. Not by far. All around him, the stones of the keep seemed to hum with power, making his skin tingle and his heart race. He could sense it in the air, insubstantial, a fog that could become a poison cloud between one moment and the next.

More than anything, he could feel Merlin: a dazzling smile on a dark morning; bright, unashamed laughter; childish insults that had come to sound more like endearments to Arthur's ears. 

And beneath that, hidden depths of pain and grief, horror and guilt.

Fear.

Stepping over the burnt corpse, Arthur turned the corner, stopping short when he saw another, more familiar figure slumped by an open threshold. 

'Don't.' Merlin's wrecked plea was nothing but a whisper, as if he had screamed himself hoarse. 'Don't look in there.'

For a moment, Arthur hesitated, desperately torn, but in the end it was Merlin's frailty that made up his mind. He sagged against the wall like a marionette with its strings cut. He'd drawn one knee up to his chest and curled over it, his brow resting on the cap of bone as he watched Arthur through eyes hooded with exhaustion. Eyes that flared from blue to gold, making the air sing and the remains of the keep shudder.

Merlin clenched his jaw, the tendons in his neck protruding like cords as if he battled with something immense. The sweat on his brow painted lines in his soot-streaked face, and Arthur saw him shiver from head to foot.

Sheathing his sword without a thought, Arthur strode to Merlin's side, dropping to his knees and resting a cautious hand on that dark, down-bent head. 'It's all right. We'll get you out of here.'

Merlin wheezed a pained breath, wetting cracked lips and shaking his head. 'No. I can't control it. You need to leave before –' A creak of masonry interrupted him, and Arthur hunched his shoulders, casting a wary eye over the ceiling. Here and there, delicate cracks cobwebbed its surface. If they weren't careful, this place would become their tomb.

'Not without you.' He ruffled Merlin's hair before grabbing his arm and putting it around his neck. 'Can you walk?'

'Arthur –'

'Up, or I'll carry you.' It was no empty threat. Merlin was feather-light at the best of times. In fact, Arthur considered just throwing him over his shoulder and making a break for it. Merlin looked like he'd collapse after no more than a few steps. Yet there was something rigid and dangerous about the man at his side: something Arthur did not understand, but respected all the same. 'Come on. Gwaine, Leon, make sure the path ahead is clear. We don't want any unexpected surprises.'

His knights nodded, but Arthur saw the way their gazes lingered on the decimated doorway, their minds no doubt conjuring a hundred horrors within. His imagination ran riot, and he could not stop himself from casting a sweeping glance into the room. 

He wished he hadn't.

There was little left that he could recognise: twisted metal tools and chains melted to splash down the walls. Soot lay like a blooming flower around one small, clear space on the floor: the epicentre of all this destruction. The bodies lay where they had fallen, incinerated to nothing but shells of their former selves. More than a dozen, Arthur realised, obliterated before they could even reach for their swords.

'I told you not to look,' Merlin whispered, sagging against Arthur's side. His words slurred, and Arthur tightened his grip as another great shudder ripped through Merlin's body. 'I didn't mean it. Not like this. My magic just...' He stumbled, almost falling to his knees, and Arthur swore as the masonry let out a warning rumble. 'Leave me,' Merlin begged. 'Get out while you can.'

'No!' Arthur grunted, throwing caution to the wind and hauling Merlin bodily over his shoulder. He didn't even struggle. Only a rough, despairing sound suggested he still clung to consciousness, and Arthur felt Merlin's fingers grip weakly at the leather covering his back. 'Just hold on. We'll be out of here before you know it.'

He moved as fast as he dared, following Leon and Gwaine as they rushed through the ruined castle, their swords up and ready for a fight. Not that there was any to be found. The corridors remained empty and silent but for the occasional rattle of another collapse. Dust began to choke the air, and Arthur cuffed it from his face as they staggered up a narrow flight of stairs and stumbled through the doorway of the main hall.

'Gods!'

Arthur stared at the people littering the floor. Unlike the ones down below, they were not burnt to oblivion. Rather, they could have been sleeping. Only their open, staring eyes gave them away. They looked like toy soldiers knocked down by a petulant child, and the first tendril of true fear curled around Arthur's spine. 

So far, he had been focussed on getting Merlin and his men out. He had put aside everything else: Merlin's magic and what it could do. The burnt carcasses downstairs had not been as alarming as this. Their violent death felt like retribution: something deserved. It was obvious and visceral, but this? To see more than two-score of bandits brought to nothing as if they had simply expired between one breath and the next? It chilled him to the bone.

Abruptly, Merlin's slack body stiffened, tensing from head to toe. Arthur swore, almost dropping him. He swung Merlin down, setting him to sway on his feet as he stared into eyes that glowed like wildfire. His skin, as white as moonlight, carried two red flags of colour high on his cheeks, and those full lips were parted around frantic, whispered words that Arthur didn't understand. One shaking hand lifted, elegant fingers spread wide, and it took Arthur a moment to realise that the reddish-brown smears down his arm were blood. 

'Merlin?'

'Look.' Gwaine stepped forward, his fingertips hovering over the fabric of Merlin's tunic. The sleeve had been slit, but now the cloth stuck to the wet skin beneath. It was Leon who murmured his apologies to an oblivious Merlin, peeling it back to reveal the wound.

Arthur's guts twisted as he stared at the brand. He'd thought that Merlin had escaped it – that he'd broken free before they had a chance to mark him. Instead, a sigil the size of his palm burned the flesh of Merlin's upper arm. Red and blistered, it shimmered with blood, but the shape still stood out clearly on the outward face of his shoulder. Arthur knew it well. He wore it on his heraldry every day: the dragon of Camelot.

'They do it to show what kingdom the slave came from, so that everyone knows.' Gwaine rested a hand on Arthur's back. 'Anyone taken from within Camelot's borders will be marked the same.'

Arthur swallowed, shoving aside the surging turmoil of his thoughts as he turned his attention back to Merlin's face. If it hurt, he showed no sign of it. He stared upwards at the dark and distant ceiling, those strange words still tumbling from his lips in a desperate litany. 'Come on,' he murmured, reaching out to take the hand that hung slack at Merlin's side, tugging as if he could pull him from his eerie reverie. 'It's time to leave.'

'We won't make it.' Merlin blinked, just once. 'The roof... I can't stop it.'

As if stirred to life by his soft statement, a sharp report of breaking stone rang out around them. Like a giant rousing from a centuries long slumber, the rumbling roar of falling rock reached their ears, far off at first but growing louder as one cascade set off another. 

With a mighty crunch, Arthur saw a crack cleave open, yawning in the nearest wall and moving ever upwards. Sturdy pillars that had withstood the passage of time shifted beneath twisting forces none of them could see, and a fresh hail of old mortar clattered down around them. 

It felt like the calm before a storm: a breathless moment of uncertainty. Between the space of one heartbeat and the next, the balance shifted, and the first column slumped drunkenly to the floor. 

The fall broke it, sending splinters of stone knifing out in all directions. Arthur threw up his hands, shielding his face only to realise that nothing had struck him. Peering around, he could see slivers of rock, as sharp as knives, caught in the air, frozen in place as if held by some invisible force. 

Yet that was only the beginning. Deprived of its support, the roof roared fiercely. More buttressing fell to pieces, raining masonry down in a deadly cascade that grew by the second. The din trembled up through Arthur's feet, rattling his lungs in his chest and stealing his breath away.

'Sire, we need to run!' Leon cried, clutching Arthur's arm. 

'No!' Merlin's voice rang around them, strong for the first time since they'd found him. 'We should move slowly. I can keep the roof off us, stop us getting hurt, but only if I stay focussed.' His eyes flared, the gold burning bright as he whipped his head around, renewing his concentration on the stone that threatened to come crashing down. 'Please, Arthur. Trust me.'

Sucking in a deep breath, Arthur winced as another column lost its fight, the bricks crumbling to pieces. Huge slabs of the roof crashed down on the far side of the hall, but directly above them it looked almost whole, marred by nothing but a web of faint cracks that glowed like candlelight: Merlin's magic holding it all together. 'All right. Slowly, then. Here, I'll help.'

He placed his hands on Merlin's shoulder, guiding him backwards step-by-step, urging him to lift his feet over bodies and rubble alike. Gwaine and Leon stuck close, kicking what they could out of their path. 

They surveyed everything with wide eyes, the sweat beading their faces speaking volumes of their fear and discomfort. Arthur knew how they felt. Every instinct he had screamed at him to flee, to get out under the open sky where it was safe. This, creeping along at a snail's space, seemed too great a risk as the keep groaned like a dying leviathan. 

'Nearly at the door,' Gwaine promised, his hand on Arthur's back to steady him as he steered Merlin over some more rubble. 'We're almost out.'

A thin, strained gasp from Merlin made them all flinch, and Arthur ducked his head as a louder crash resounded around them. Where they had been standing minutes before, the influence of magic had eased away. The floor had caved in to the rooms below: probably the dungeons they had all been trapped in only a candle-mark ago.

The whole building was folding in on itself, walls crumpling like withering petals. Yet wherever they touched Merlin's magic, they would halt in their demise, hanging suspended in the air.

'There!' Leon sounded overjoyed, and Arthur dared a glance over his shoulder. Beyond the doorway to the hall, through another vestibule, he could see the huge front door of the keep standing open to reveal the winter's dawn. It looked like safety and freedom all at once: a window into a snow-decked world, and he closed his eyes in relief, almost able to smell their salvation.

'We've nearly made it, Merlin,' he promised, squeezing in reassurance. 'You've almost got us out. Just keep going.'

Merlin's jagged nod was his only response, and Arthur refused to dwell on the power that he could wield, even in this weakened state. Enough to kill more than fifty men. Enough to hold up a castle as it tumbled down around them. He had never seen anything like it, and he did not know whether to be impressed or terrified.

Cold wind ruffled Arthur's hair and trailed loving fingers up the back of his neck. The sharp, fresh perfume of snow teased his nose, and he shuddered in relief as they inched their way out into the meek silver light of the sunrise. Its faint glow shone off the sweat glossing Merlin’s nape and highlighted the shudder of his body. His footsteps scuffed over the snowy ground, his eyes still focused on the keep until, with a soft sigh, he dropped his hand to his side.

The din rolled over them, a cacophonous roar as the last sorry remnants of the ruin lost their fight to stay standing. The crumbling tower collapsed inwards, raising billowing dust in its wake. Walls slumped and toppled as pillars cracked clean in two, falling like trees beneath a woodsman's axe. Arthur reached out, knotting his fingers in the back of Merlin's tunic and pulling him close, further away from the devastation.

'I need to lie down,' Merlin whispered, his words reed-thin as he swayed where he stood.

Arthur saw his collapse a split-second before it happened; saw Merlin's knees buckle and his body succumb. In one quick motion, he grabbed Merlin before he could hit the floor, grunting with effort as he scooped him up into his arms and turned back towards the woods.

Merlin had looked after them – had got them out of their cells and free from Laz and his men. Now, Arthur would return the favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ah, they're safe! For now...
> 
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